Effed Up at Joe's Crab Shack
by stardustdoll
Summary: I wrote this basically on a dare? A mutual on tumblr was asking for fic prompts and got this, I think, but without a fandom attached? So I took the bait. I'm so sorry. This is also the first thing I've published on here in literal years, and the first on this username, so be gentle? Also thank you to Summer Leigh Wind for letting me know about the vulgarity in the title thing 3


He had no idea why he was even there. It was a garish nightmare hell. The sign outside had a huge arrow, as if there was any conceivable way to miss the building, and it was lit up like Christmas. Draco was pretty sure you could see the sign in the next town over. He sat at a booth in the crowded dining room, swimming in the noise. It seemed as if every muggle in the state was at this particular restaurant. If you could call it that.

There was a small child in the booth behind him who kept standing up in his seat and turning around, and Draco could feel the thing's breath on his neck. It made his skin crawl, but what was he to do, hex the little asshole? When the child started tugging on his hair, the thought began to seriously cross his mind, and he was in the middle of choosing the least visible but most effective spell to hit the kid with when a shadow fell across the table.

"Don't even think about it, Draco." The voice sounded amused, far more amused than it should. Draco scowled.

"The only reason I'm here is because you wanted to come here. Merlin knows why. Look at this place, what is all over the walls? And why are there so many buckets? Why do people pay money to eat out of buckets?"

Harry sat down across from Draco, smiling. He'd known this place would drive Draco insane; that was half the reason he'd chosen it. If anyone had told them during their school days that Draco and Harry would one day be meeting at a muggle restaurant with the word "shack" in the title, somewhere in the American south, they would have laughed. What a ridiculous notion. And yet here they were, and now there was a waiter at their table.

"Welcome to Joe's Crab Shack! Can I get y'all started with some drinks?"

As Draco was still distracted by the child pulling at his perfectly-coiffed hair and the myriad neon lights all over the walls, Harry grabbed the drink menu and flipped it open. It only took him a moment to choose the perfect drink. If they were going to enjoy themselves (meaning, if Harry was going to enjoy watching Draco interact with the type of person who visited Joe's Crab Shack sincerely) they were going to need something dangerous to drink.

His eye caught a drink that had a limit of two per customer. That seemed exactly what Draco needed.

"Two TKO Punches, please," Harry smiled up at the waiter, who smiled back and said he'd be back for their orders soon.

Draco raised an eyebrow.

"TKO Punch? Sounds promising. Are you trying to get me drunk, Potter?"

"Of course I am. How else am I going to get you to eat crab out of a bucket?"

* * *

They were halfway through the second TKO Punch when it hit them. Harry stood up to visit the men's and stumbled a little, giggled. Draco tried roll his eyes but found that the room spun instead. Harry stumbled off, while Draco wrapped his lips around his straw and steadily worked through the rest of his punch. These things were dangerous, so full of sugar and liquor that you didn't realize they'd hit you until it was too late.

The rational side of his brain understood why there was a two drink limit. The side of his brain that was sort of melting was demanding to know why he couldn't have another, a concern he actually voiced to the waiter when he came back around. When Harry unsteadily reappeared, Draco was berating the poor waiter, but it was less intimidating than he meant it to be, as it was rather slurred and punctuated with several hiccups.

With some difficulty, Harry slid back into his seat, and smiled charmingly up at the waiter, his hair sort of falling into his eyes. Draco noticed.

"Sorry mate, he's not used to this kind of place. Since we can't have another one of those, what do you suggest?"

The bartender glanced warily at Draco, who was still fearsomely glaring, and also swaying a little.

"I uh. I like the Jack Goes Bananas. It's got Jack Daniel's in pina colada mix, with some banana liqueur-"

Before he could finish upselling the drink, Draco broke in angrily.

"Did you- did he just say Jack Goes Bananas? Like that's the name of an actual drink? What kind of place is this? What sort of hell have you brought me to, that people order things like this. Whiskey and bananas? And they call it that ridiculous name?" He rounded on the waiter. "Do people order this? Do people say that name to you? Or do they call it 'the ridiculous drink with Jack Daniel's and banana together, for some reason, instead of just drinking whiskey like a person should'?"

The waiter looked back and forth between Draco and Harry, concern growing on his face. Harry just laughed, a genuine amused laugh. Although he sort of pitied the waiter, he'd been kind of hoping for this to happen. Some people went out to hook up, some went out to dance. Harry and Draco went out so Harry could watch what happened when Draco actually let loose a little. It was glorious.

"It's uh. . . really good. . . " The waiter tried, uncertainly, to convince them still. Harry just nodded enthusiastically.

"Bring us two!"

* * *

Draco slurped the dregs of his second Jack Goes Bananas from the bottom of the glass and grinned, heavy-lidded, at Harry.

"Y'know. . . these things. These things are pretty goddamn good." Draco sat back and his elbow clipped the empty glass, almost sending it to the floor. Through some miracle, he caught it triumphantly, just as the waiter came around the corner.

"Can I. . . can I get you anything to eat, or. . . " He was trying, he really was. He wanted these two out of his section. They weren't really being rowdy, but they were. . . weird. And he was tired. Maybe if they got some food, it would be worth the hassle. But no.

"Bring us something delicious. With alcohol!" Draco demanded seriously, his brow furrowed.

"Um. What would you like, exactly?"

"Well I don't know! Isn't it your job to sell these things? Sell me something."

The waiter sighed a deep, weary sigh.

"Perhaps the Mason Jar Bloody Mary, for a change," he suggested, knowing it was less strong than what the pair had been drinking.

"A jar?" Draco crowed. "Did you hear that, Harry? This man wants me to drink from a jar! And pay for it!" He laughed in what he probably thought was a derisive manner but pretty much sounded like a hiccup and a giggle.

"We'll have two," Harry said with a grin.

* * *

When they came, Draco was agog.

"It's a literal jar."

"Yes, Draco, I can see that."

"Are they out of glassware?"

"No, Draco, it's the. . . it's the what do you call it, the aesthetic."

This sent Draco into another round of giggles.

"Aesthetic? Aesthetic is like, is like really nice art. Or some peacocks in the front garden. Or the mop you call hair mixed with, put with the thing, the outfits you call. . . outfits." Nonetheless, Draco started drinking from his jar, and found he sort of liked it.

* * *

The waiter was growing concerned. Sure, he hadn't liked them very much, they'd been annoying and demanding, especially the blond one. But they were paying customers, and now they were gone. He didn't think they had left, as no one had seen them actually leave, so they didn't seem to have ditched on their check.

He took care of other tables, thinking maybe they stepped out for a smoke, maybe to clear their heads a little. After a while, though, the worry grew. Where in God's name could they be? And what were they doing? They were really very drunk, they could be breaking things, and he would be held responsible.

In fact, Draco and Harry were not breaking anything. At least, not intentionally. There had been the unfortunate snapping of a toilet paper holder but that really wasn't their fault, it was poorly made. The stall was nicely cold against Draco's back, soothing the flush that came from way too much alcohol on an empty stomach. For some reason, he didn't mind fingers in his hair half as much when they were Harry's, nor the breath on his neck.

Then those fingers were at his belt, fumbling ungracefully, of course, as Harry wasn't exactly a paragon of grace at his most sober, and he was most definitely not sober. Draco snickered and helped him along, and was rewarded by being spun around and feeling that coldness press against his face. Before long, other sensations drowned out even that.

Draco left the bathroom first, hair uncharacteristically mussed, and grinning. Harry followed, doing up his belt and sporting a similar grin. It was painfully obvious, and neither of them cared. The waiter was glad to see them back at the table, hoping they were drunk enough to tip well, and trying not to think of what they had been up to.

"I believe we're ready for some crab in a bucket, mate," Harry said triumphantly.


End file.
